The Night Campaign
by malanthropy
Summary: Duncan visits Courtney in Calgary between seasons and turns everything upside down! The Princess meets the City, the Underworld, death metal, jazz, Duncan's brother Greg, Greg's gf Violet, and campaigns for a position that doesn't exist! Law v Chaos! DxC!
1. Entrances

**Entrances  
**In which Courtney talks to her draperies, or something, and Duncan pulls the oldest trick in the book.

* * *

Hers were no-nonsense curtains: ivory white, slightly stiff, with a little red tulip border on the bottom. No frills, no breezy chiffon under-curtains, no gaudy accent-color curtain-ties. Nothing about them implied visiting hours for tender breezes; Courtney had half-forgotten how her windows opened in the first place. Bedrooms weren't a place to be seen in—who would want to see bedhead at her usual wakeup time of 5 AM? Who would really want to watch her toss around in her sleep? Her loyalties lay with the voters, after all, and who votes for dragon breath?

Which is precisely why, at 3 AM on a Friday night (or morning, depending on your opinion), Courtney was extremely surprised to find herself standing in front of the open window of her second-floor bedroom, staring out at the house across from her, and the grass in front of it, and the street in front of that. Listening to quiet suburban evenings was a new experience for her, and she seemed to seek out new experiences nowadays—before, she didn't think about what it would be like to jump out of her bathroom window and land in the pool in her backyard, or how it would feel to drive through the night to some club full of sweaty delinquents. And yet, after Camp Wawanakwa, she found herself going out of her way to be a little less safe. A pile of psych textbooks and car manuals sat, neatly stacked, next to her bed. Whatever mental disease she caught from Duncan, there _had_ to be a way to cure it; she'd planned out her recovery, and step one was a little research.

She turned away from the books. "I don't miss him," she sighed. "Nothing in me misses him. He's like..." She bit her lip. What the hell was Duncan like? Crazy, dangerous, tempting. "He's like running the campaign. It's always such a strain to handle, but the rush of victory…" she giggled, and flopped over on her back. Squishy white carpeting cushioned her shoulders; she stared at the ceiling, trying to find him in the pastel checkerboard wallpaper. "It's like every decision as the student president after that is a breeze. But not with Duncan. Even when we liked each other, he was still such a jerk! Trent went crazy for Gwen once they were official, but Duncan didn't change a bit! Urgh!"

Courtney scoffed, laughed again, and grabbed a pillow. Then again, she and Duncan were never really… official. That was the problem—she never got hold of him, so she didn't see more of his softer side past the Bunny incident.

"Should I have asked him? Maybe he expected me to? Maybe he never asked because he doesn't like me!" Her eyes widened and she shuffled over to her nightstand. The carved skull still sat in a corner of it, where her mom wouldn't find it. Courtney picked it up, smiled, and sighed. "Of course he likes me. Everyone likes me." Her eyes turned up at her pastel checkerboard ceiling—only this time, instead of looking for Duncan, she was looking at victory. "I'll win him over. Just a matter of time."

Tonight was not a night for sleeping in beds. She crawled over to her pillow on the floor, and put Duncan's skull on the carpet next to her. "Not that I really like him, though."

As her eyes drifted shut, a breeze wafted through her normally unwaftable curtains. Breezes normally had no place in Courtney's room, but tonight was a night for gusts of the especially rare variety—that is, corporeal winds with green mohawks and excellent wall-climbing skills.

The breeze with knees soundlessly dropped his duffel bag by the window and scanned the room. Duncan surveyed the sleeping Courtney with a satisfied smirk, greatly enjoying his vantage point. His shadow over her changed the light in her room, making her murmur a little, smile, and turn over. "Man, she even loves my shadow when she's _asleep_," he mused, staring at her hungrily. "Imagine how much she digs the rest of me when she's awake." He picked up a pillow from her bed. "Eh. Okay, Sleeping Beauty, let's see how well you play dead…" He crouched over her, straddling her stomach, and lowered the pillow over her nose and mouth.

* * *

AN1: The beginning of a longer DxC story. I'm sure there's more than enough DxC out there already, but I couldn't find anything like what I wanted to read, so I figured I'd write it. It starts slow, but it'll pick up. I'm keeping individual chapters short so that I can post more often, which will keep the writing going.

AN2: The whole point of fanfiction is that you don't own the plot or characters. So I decided to stop disclaimering.


	2. Escapes

**Escapes  
**In which Courtney is more than one Disney prince(ss), and Duncan is a vegetable.

* * *

If it lasted thirty seconds, it took three hours. They were at the cabins again, and Duncan's nose was all of an inch away from her face. Slowly—agonizingly so, like rush hour traffic—their lips crept closer. She watched his eyes as they tried to claim her, sarcastic, violent, self-assured from eyebrow to pupil. Courtney couldn't decide whether to give in or get out; either way, both parties tilted their heads just a smidge to the right in preparation…

At the last second, she felt him grin. Duncan's arms trapped her before he smashed his lips onto hers. It was more attack than kiss, his whole face pushing at her mouth, forcing her into a wall, trapping her tongue, looking like a predator feasting on the catch of the day. His eyes dared her even to try to escape, thrilling at the petrified look she wore. His eyes grew bigger and he pushed her further into the wall. She felt small—she was small—she was stuck—she was enjoying herself? Images of Duncan's eyes stuck in her retinas—no escape—no breath—no air! No air! Losing consciousness, losing life—cannot lose! Will not lose! Must escape!

Duncan's fingers curled around the edges of the pillow, pressing it to her face a little harder. Why the hell wasn't she waking up? He saw her arms start to twitch, lift off the ground, and wave wildly. After narrowly avoiding her sharpened fingernails, he grabbed her arms and pressed them to the floor, using his face to keep the pillow on her mouth. Predicting her next move, he kneeled on her thighs to keep her feet from kicking him. Her comfort versus his cajones? Courtney would just have to deal.

When she finally opened her eyes, she looked like the bad end of a zombie flick. It took her several blinks to register the punk perched over her, and Duncan couldn't decide how to interpret her _increased_ struggling once she took in the scene. He risked his right arm and put a finger to his lips, hushing very quietly over the pillow. She glowered and used her free hand to yank the pillow away from her face.

"What on _earth_ are you doing here, do you even know what time—mmf rmf!" she hissed, as Duncan shoved the pillow over her mouth again.

"Looks like I didn't need to kiss you this time, Sleeping Beauty. You woke up all on your own," he whispered.

Courtney couldn't decide which she hated more—the irony, or Duncan's stupid smirk.

* * *

"All I'm saying is, most people don't leave their getaway cars to rust. Relax, hot stuff—it'll be fun!"

"You know what's really fun? Sleeping! Without you!"

"Sheesh. If you really didn't want me here, why'd you give me permission?"

"I didn't give you—what are you _talking _about? When did I give you permission to break into my house and _strangle _me?"

Duncan shrugged and gestured toward her window. "It's the first time I've seen it open. And open at three in the morning, with a sleepy face sitting in the window practically _begging _me to climb in." He ran a hand over his green mohawk, looking impatient.

"And _strangle _me? Duncan, you are such a—" Pillow and face met, yet again.

"Considerate person? Glad you noticed, babe. How else was I supposed to keep you from screaming? Keep it down, this pillow's getting tired of shutting you up."

Courtney "hmph"ed and crossed her arms, glaring at him. "Would you just _leave_ already?"

Duncan dropped the pillow and sighed. "Fine, fine, guess I know a girl who hates having a good time." He started for the window, grabbing his duffel bag on the way.

She growled at him in disgust. "I _do_ like having fun, but not at three in the morning!"

One foot on the windowsill, and duffel bag halfway out of it, he stopped. "What do you have to lose? Beauty rest? Didn't look all that restful to me. Besides, it's Saturday."

Courtney blushed and muttered something about her parents getting worried and how it would mess up her routine. Duncan smirked.

"Whatever, princess," he grunted as he tossed his duffel bag out of the window. "Your loss." He stepped out of the window backwards, clinging onto the outside windowsill and keeping himself stable by gripping the brick wall with the soles of his shoes. A jump this low into a springy lawn would be no problem.

Duncan climbed down to a lower window before finally jumping into the grass. As he shouldered his duffel bag, he started the time-honored countdown. _Three… two…_

A door shut behind him, and out of it stepped a disgruntled Courtney, dressed in her normal clothes, arms crossed. "I had to leave a note for my parents. And… don't think you've won! I just wanted to see how you got in." She glared at him, daring him to make fun of her.

"And Courtney begins her life of crime! Maybe I'll find you in my windowsill someday, Princess Charming," he taunted, laying it on thick.

"I bet you don't even have—"

"_I know where you live,"_ he whispered, giving her the Hook Hand face.

"You are _revolting_!" she cried. "There are rotting vegetables with more charm than you!"

"Prepare for a morning in the getaway car with a dead cabbage, sweetheart."

* * *

AN: After some silliness, I finally figured out the editing system. A couple continuity changes to the first chapter and this one, and I'm including the summary text for each chapter at the bottom here. Just in case, I don't know, it becomes useful in the future? Thanks to everyone who reviewed and favorite'd, I really appreciate it! Looking forward to 9/10/09... :D

AN from the Future!: I switched things up, now the summary text is up at the top underneath the chapter title. Fancy stuff!


	3. Highway Introductions

**Highway Introductions  
**In which surprise visitors are just too much for Courtney, and Duncan is horny.

* * *

As she shut the car door, a voice came from the back seat. "So, what took you two so long, eh?"

Half-buckled Courtney could only yelp in surprise. Unsure whether to run or stay, she looked at Duncan to see if the voice was safe.

Duncan let out a breath sharply and rolled his eyes. "That's my older brother Greg, and his girlfriend Violet. Greg, Violet, Courtney," he said flatly, motioning to each of them in turn.

"Pleased to meet y—"

"No, really, bro, something happen back there to slow you down? She didn't, you know…" Greg sung a fragment of "Do a Little Dance, Make a Little Love," and then made a 'cha-ching!' sound complete with a toned-down pelvic thrust. "…show you some dance moves?" He looked at Courtney for a moment. "Sorry, Courtney, bro and I keep it strictly business casual. I hope you aren't offended."

Jamming the keys in the ignition, Duncan smiled despite himself and gave Courtney a look of understanding tempered by years of, she could only assume, extreme suffering. "Greg has a talent for making terrible first impressions. Don't take it personally, babe."

Courtney hardly stammered out the beginnings of a response before Greg started up again. "Oh, so you're not one of the hookers! Dunky brings so many home, I can hardly tell the difference between women and whores anymore. I mean, really, there's not much difference, they've both got va—whoops! She's a live one, bro!"

After Duncan had introduced the surprise visitors in the back seat, Courtney's heartbeat started a slow ritard to its normal rate. She calmed down and tuned into Greg's monologue, which then transformed her face from light brown to bright red. After hearing the "hookers" comment, she lost her temper and aimed a slap for Greg's face. At the last moment, a hand bolted out from the darkness and gripped her wrist harshly. Courtney winced and glared at Violet, whose hand had so trapped hers an inch away from Greg's face.

"What's your deal? Let go!" she growled, struggling to get free. "Violet, please, let go! You're hurting me!" Violet's face remained unchanged, except for her eyes, which were focused on Greg, as if waiting for his opinion. Greg, on the other hand, was howling with laughter so loud that it drowned out the sound of the engine starting.

"She's like a bird, honey, and we don't like to break a bird's wings, hm? I haven't seen her fly yet, so you better let the birdie go," said Greg to Violet, finally, in a voice a father might use with his daughter.

Violet released Courtney's hand mechanically and gave it two slow, careful pats before looking to Greg again. She seemed pleased with herself, or at least Courtney thought she looked pleased. It was hard to tell—Violet hardly moved her chest when she breathed, and didn't seem to blink much. "Good girl, reward for you," sang Greg, and kissed his girlfriend quickly but powerfully. Violet's smile completely transformed her face. "Although I think I deserved the slap."

Courtney turned away from them and looked at Duncan instead. This was too weird for her. "Um?" was all she could manage. She heard a very loud 'smack' come from the back seat and a louder 'owww' come from Greg.

Duncan had his eyes on the road; he'd already driven them out of her neighborhood and they were waiting for the red light at the main road to turn green. "Don't even bother trying to understand. They're in an 'unconventional relationship,'" he said sarcastically, quoting the phrase "unconventional relationship" with his fingers.

"Like an open relationship or something?"

"More like extremely closed. I'll explain later," he replied.

An awkward silence followed, filled occasionally by sounds of shuffling in the back seat. How do you follow something like that? Courtney turned her attention to the road; a thought hit her.

"Can you even drive?" she asked. She'd dropped her usual accusatory tone; the drive was strange enough that it knocked the bite out of her. What resulted was what normal people would call 'small talk.' "You said Greg's older, shouldn't he—"

"Greg would turn this sweet ride into a hulking metal deathtrap, babe. And can't you see I'm driving?"

"But are you driving _legally_?"

"The cops would say no," he admitted with a grin, "if they could catch me. I've been screwing with cars for years now. Besides, we're headed to Calgary—do the pigs pull over cars _crawling_ in the middle lane?" he spat.

Rather than defend her hometown, a metric ton of realizations hit Courtney. "Wait a minute, we're going downtown _in the dead of night_? Are you _crazy_? There'll be drunks and bums all over the place! You might get—"

"You're with a criminal, remember? The drunks should be scared of _me_, not the other way around, princess."

"_Would you let me finish!_ Apart from that, there's construction, and—why are you here in Calgary? You don't live in Calgary! Do you even live in _Alberta?_ How did you find out where my house was? Have you been _stalking_ me, Duncan? Duncan! Quit laughing and answer me, you idiot!"

Duncan had to pull over—it was just too much. His face looked like he either had severe constipation, laughing cramps, or both. "I didn't," he wheezed between fits, "know you," ha ha, oh hee hee hee, snmx huh huh, "cared so much," bwa ha ha _ha ha ha_, "princess!"

"Answer me, damn you! I could report this as a kidnapping you kn—_get your face off the horn!_"

Greg joined Duncan's hysterics after Duncan, doubled over, planted his forehead into the steering wheel, and held the horn down. The brothers' pained cries of laughter harmonized surprisingly well with the car horn's volume. "You idiots sound like hyenas!" She grabbed Duncan's mohawk and wrenched his head away from the wheel. "Stop!"

Her laughing love interest made no attempt to resist and gave her a look loaded with smarm. "Didn't know you liked it like that, babe. Can't say I mind." In disgust, Courtney let go of his hair and hid her face in the dashboard, letting out a growl of pure annoyance.

"I can do that too, see, but it works better if you do it like _this_," Duncan said, punctuating his consolation by pressing his face into the horn. Again. The noise wasn't loud enough to obscure Duncan's voice, unfortunately. "Practish makesh purfuct, hot shtuff," he continued, half of his mouth covered by the wheel. "You'll get it evenshually."

"She totally digs you, bro."

"_SHUT UP!"_

* * *

AN: If you're interested, I'm not Canadian. Yes, I did choose Calgary for a reason. :)


	4. Power, Control, Respect

**Power, Control, Respect**  
In which Courtney falls asleep, wakes up, smacks Duncan right in the kisser, and hears voices. Deals are made, tempers flare!

* * *

Duncan pulled the car up in front of an abandoned one-story shopping block, exhaled, and looked at Courtney. "Here we are."

"Where's here?" she grumbled. It took her a few blinks to remember she'd fallen asleep somewhere other than home.

"You mean you don't know your own city?"

She stepped out of the car and stretched, yawning. "Not really my city. Besides, I don't go to the places they're going to tear down…"

"And here I thought you'd be useful." Duncan walked around to the trunk and pulled out two bags; he tossed one to Courtney. She pouted, but took the bag anyway.

She leaned forward a little to accommodate the heavier load in a way that felt more like blandly responding to stimuli than attempting to ease the stress on her body. "Not without some coffee or sleep," she muttered.

Both Greg and Violet left the car through the same door. The streetlights let her see what the dark car couldn't—their faces. Greg had hair most girls would kill for—long, perfectly straight, dirty blonde. His square-ish face and baby blues matched Duncan's, though his features were a little more serpentine. He wore dark camo pants tucked into a huge pair of steel-toed boots, a seriously old t-shirt with a logo on it that looked like shredded splatter paint, and fingerless gloves. His ears were pierced so that they had holes in the center, which Duncan later explained was called "gauging." He had all kinds of tattoos, but she wasn't awake enough to decipher them. Violet, appropriately, had purple streaks in her hair and a little lavender headband. Her latex halter-top-and-capris combination blinded Courtney, but as she turned away, she noticed Violet also had spiked bracelets on both wrists.

"Tim Hortons around the corner? I could get you some coffee," Greg offered, thumbing at the main road behind him. Courtney nodded and muttered something which Greg interpreted as 'large double double.' "You got any money, bro?"

"Nope."

"Cool. I'll see if I can pick up some Timbits too." He linked arms with Violet, Wizard of Oz-style, and motioned her forwards. "Alright, V, we've got work to do!" Courtney could only shake her head and yawn.

"Still weird," she said.

"You get used to it." Duncan motioned towards the abandoned building before them. "After you, princess."

In exchange for his kindness, Courtney gave him a look reminiscent of an English-speaker trying to learn physics with a Chinese textbook. "Are you… serious?" she groaned. "The windows are broken and it's scheduled for demolition."

"And?"

"Even your car is safer than this. Someone will—"

"Nobody will, worry wart," Duncan interrupted, stopping her mouth with his index finger. "Like you said, it's scheduled for demolition. Nothing's safer than a ghost town."

The building hung low to the ground, with low doorways not a far cry from the ceiling. Most of the windows used to be storefronts, and some had colorful word splashes painted on them advertising their final sales. Most windows were missing or smashed, making the block look like a mouth missing teeth. She had brief visions of being swallowed alive by a geriatric strip mall and getting digested into merchandise, so she shook her head to get the image out. Duncan figured she was trying to stay awake.

"Alright, sleepyhead, let's explore this dump…"

Broken glass was everywhere. The place used to be a toy store, judging by all the toy cars and dolls strewn about. A stairwell went upwards, most likely to the roof. The walls were free of graffiti, but empty beer cans dotted the floor. Duncan went to check the register, and was surprised to see a few dollars and coins left over. He looked at half-dead Courtney appraisingly; he'd have to trick her awake. He palmed the money and put on a fake look of crushed hopes. "Damn, someone's been here already. Guess we better watch out, princess, maybe you _are _in danger," he whispered, moving toward her. "Calgary's bad side can smell a goody two shoes from a mile away."

The glossed-over sleepiness in Courtney's eyes slid away instantly. "I'm not a goody two shoes!" she shouted.

"Prove it."

She stood there, amidst the glass and beer cans and doll heads, staring at him, arms crossed. The angered smile she wore could have killed her lawyer at twenty paces.

Duncan laughed. "What, are you trying to stare me down? Or is that you puckering up? I dig that, come give bad boy a ki—"

**WHUMP! **In one wild swing, Courtney hammered Duncan's face with the full force of his own duffel bag, making him swing sideways like a whip. The blow caused the bag to pull open; a couple aerosol cans flew out and rattled across the floor. "Bad enough for you, hon?" she shouted, throwing the bag at the wall.

"Jesus, _ow!_" he yelled, staggering backwards. She started power walking towards him, with vengeance in her eyes. "What the hell's gotten into—mm." She inhaled his words first, then reached her arms behind his head and gripped his back with one hand, his buzzed black hair with the other. He ran his hands around her waist and held the small of her back as though he were molding clay, his fingers making rhythmic circles around her spine. She felt his exhales brush coarsely against her cheeks, twitched at the cold stings of his nose piercing, pressed closer despite his spiked collar prodding her neck. She kissed him like she owned him, like she needed him, like he deserved punishment, like he satiated all thirsts. Every breath twisted them in some new shape; sometimes they curled like vines, her turning her head sideways to try and find a weak point. Sometimes they arced, one or the other losing feeling in the knees from so much blood rushing to the brain. Sometimes they sank in tandem, both sets of knees giving way and mirroring their bodies. She stayed on the offensive throughout, her tongue advancing on and assaulting his at every opportunity, while he shuffled through strategies and maneuvers, sometimes defensive, sometimes evasive, sometimes in ambush. No matter what he tried, he was undeniably her captive. She rationed his breaths and put up with his escape attempts.

Without warning, she slid her hands around to his chest and shoved him away, panting.

"Wooo!" belted a voice from outside the window. "Sweet dance moves, Courtney!"

Duncan's hands held on to a phantom Courtney, his face undergoing signs of shock. Real Courtney glared at Duncan for a few seconds, and then broke out laughing. Duncan adjusted to the world and straightened his back, his face slowly shifting to a grin and then laughing, too. "You might stand a chance, princess," he said appraisingly.

"I _stand a chance? _Did you see yourself just now? I had you!" she cried, still half-laughing, looking ready to have at him with the bag again.

Duncan put a finger under her chin and raised it up, mock-judging her face, making mental decisions about her now-piercing, slightly offended eyes. "Better than bad, worse than bad. Plenty of potential, but no experience, and no followers. Lacks perspective." It was the voice his parole officer used when he read off the monthly behavior report—disappointed, but not surprised.

"What are you _talking_ about?"

He let go of her chin. "I'm saying you could be the baddest demon queen in Calgary if you tried, but as it stands you're just a princess, princess."

"Why would I want to be a demon queen?"

"It's not like you'd be a henchman or a worshipper; you'd give demons a run for their money. How about this: why would anyone want to be student council president?"

Venomously she listed the reasons on her fingers. "It's good experience, it looks great on transcripts, it's an opportunity to improve the school and get to know people better! How is running a _gang_ good for transcripts?"

Duncan grinned. "Don't lie to me, babe. Power, control, and respect. That's what you're after. You want people to react when you walk in a room. Transcripts make a great excuse, but don't kid yourself. No matter where you go, you'll always want to be on top of the pile." He knelt down on both knees like a supplicant and took one of her hands in his. "You want _this_," he whispered, and gently kissed the knuckles of her fingers.

Courtney was moments away from shouting that she had no desire to become a godfather remake, but some corner of her mind, the part that liked to make excuses about things like transcripts, crawled out of its cage, looked at Duncan kneeling beneath her, and whispered to her—"_yesss_." She touched the corner of her mouth and discovered she was smiling. She wiped the smile off her face and ripped her hand away from Duncan's.

"You have to tell me why you're here first."

"And then?" he said, forcing his grin into something more manageable, hardly masking how his eyes thinned into slits to keep from crying victory.

"We'll see." She stood back to let him stand up, her arms crossed. He looked proud, or devious, or both. She hated him; she loved him.

"Dudes! That was better than porn! Coffee? Timbits?" Greg exclaimed, running up to them.

"She doesn't need the coffee anymore, bro. She's awake," Duncan said, heavily dropping a boatload of subtext. "Fork over the Timbits."

"_More like 'awakened,'_" said the voice in Courtney's head. It sounded terribly inviting.

* * *

AN: Woohoo! The fun begins. :D You have no idea how much I enjoyed writing this chapter.

For those of you that don't know, Tim Hortons is a Canadian fast food chain that mainly sells donuts and coffee. It has an iron grip on the Canadian coffee business, accounting for 62% of coffee sales. (Starbucks comes in at number two, with 7%. Geez!) Unlike America, where fast food is tolerated or enjoyed but never really welcome, Tim Hortons is a Canadian tradition—the coffee is good enough to be addictive. Timbits are mini donut holes. "Double double" means two cream, two sugar.


	5. Timbit Toss Up

**AN: Big warning! It's all pretty tame, but the conversations in this chapter might make the Night Campaign a candidate for M rating instead of T. If you review, let me know if you think I should change the rating, if it matters, or if it's fine at T. If you're not sure, avoid this chapter until a review or two comes in, and then make your decision. More explanation at the end of the chapter; I don't want to spoil anything.**

**Timbit Toss-Up  
**In which donuts are thrown and Courtney screws up pretty badly.

* * *

"Say 'ahh,'" Greg said, chin up, arm poised for an overhand Timbit toss.

"Ahh!" Violet answered happily from ten feet away, sticking her tongue out as far as it would go. She made a T-shape with her arms, fingers splayed, looking for all the world like a kid pretending to be an airplane. It was the first time Courtney heard Violet speak.

Greg faked the throw twice, and then launched it at Violet's mouth. She caught the mini donut hole with her teeth, chewed it, and swallowed it eagerly, looking ready for the next wave. Greg picked another Timbit out of the box, threw it menacingly between his hands the way pitchers do to psyche out the batter, and pegged downwards at Violet's feet from out of nowhere.

Violet lurched forward towards it, her arms twisting around and turning into a Y-shape to keep her balanced. She dropped to her knees, and had to dip her chin all the way to the floor—but she still managed to catch it on her tongue. This time, instead of kid-as-airplane, she looked more like a testy duck running for bread crumbs. She got up from the floor with her arms still stretched out, chewing.

The pattern continued, Violet ducking, diving, and windmilling about, managing to catch all but one of them. It hit the floor and tumbled, bouncing over shards of glass and seas of dust before coming to rest by Violet's chunky black sneakers. She looked up at Greg, unsure. Courtney thought she looked like she was awaiting instructions.

"We don't like to _waste_, do we?" Greg chided.

Violet shook her head fervently, and knelt down, arms high. She picked the dropped Timbit up with her teeth, brushed the dust off the exposed half with her leg, and ate it.

Courtney may have heard Greg say something like "good girl, let's give it another go," but her disgust and shock made her ears ring. She looked ready to tear the skin off Greg's face Amazon-style and call it a victory for women everywhere, but Duncan sensed the impending disaster and grabbed her by the wrist before she could react. "Roof. Now," he ordered in a whisper. Courtney consented to getting dragged up the stairs—if she got the opportunity, she could do Violet a favor and throw Duncan off the roof, she reasoned. He flung open the door at the top, and they met the chilly night (or very early morning) air; Courtney shivered.

Apparently, someone else lived on the roof, too, or had—plastic lawn chairs and a table were arranged in the center, and, defying all logic, a small yellow sofa sat abandoned on the side of the roof opposite the storefronts. Courtney made a break for the sofa, curling herself into a ball next to the armrest. "Get over here, you brute," she stammered, hugging her knees. "It's cold out here."

Duncan seemed unfazed by the temperature. "So you're saying I'm hot? Don't mind if I do, klondike," he replied, and put an arm around her as he sat down next to her. Sandwiched between him and the armrest, she half-smiled, but he couldn't be sure if it was because she liked the joke or if she'd resolved to kill him for it.

"Changed my mind," she grumbled with slightly chattering teeth. "Greg and Violet first, _then_ why you're here."

"You sure?" he asked, looking a little wary. He met her steely gaze, and found his answer in them. "Alright, princess, but don't say I didn't warn you..."

Duncan exhaled. "They're a little... unique, but the closest definition is something called a total power exchange." He explained that Violet had gone her whole life needing to belong to someone in a literal sense, the same way domestic dogs seem to feel better when they have owners. It wasn't a fetish thing—"well, it is, but not really"—it was something Violet needed the way most people need a roof over their heads or to get married and have children. Less like instinct, more like biological imperative. "Really screwed her up as a kid, she tried to kill herself a couple times and some jerks took advantage of her," he concluded, talking quickly.

"That still doesn't make any sense,"Courtney said off-handedly.

Duncan sighed. "Everybody's got the right to be an individual or whatever, right?" Courtney nodded. "Violet gave her rights to Greg. He makes her decisions for her, controls where she goes and when, and takes care of bills, legal crap, the works. In exchange, she has to do what he says, or tell him when she thinks she can't. He can't order her to jump off a bridge or anything, but he tests her limits. Some of his weirder 'rules' are supposed to keep them close—she can't talk without permission, so he has to talk for her, and she can't eat using her hands, which means the food gets thrown to her, she eats with her face, or Greg feeds her. But that's what the deal is."

Courtney looked like she couldn't decide whether to be enraged or disgusted. "That doesn't make any sense, it's gross, and you're probably lying," she told him off-handedly. "Why would Violet _do_ that? Why would _anybody_ do that?"

Duncan pulled his arm away from her like he'd just dipped it in tomato sauce by mistake—a little shocked, a little annoyed, a little grossed out. "I've gone to juvie, but I don't lie, sweetheart," he said coldly. He leaned his elbows on his knees and stared at the gravel on the floor of the roof, looking emotionless. "Let's try this again: why would _anybody _love someone?" he asked, mocking her tone.

Courtney's inner warning siren went off, but she couldn't let Duncan think he'd alarmed her. She stared at the same patch of gravel as him, crushed herself further into the armrest, and thought. The temperature was the same, but she felt several degrees colder.

"Because..." she started, and then stopped. Duncan looked up at her blankly. "We like something about that other person, like looks or personality, and want to get to know them... better?"

Duncan scooted to the other armrest, leaned his back against it, and kicked his legs up onto the rest of the couch. The smile crept back onto his face, but it lacked life. "And how, _darling_, do we know what to like?"

She shuffled through her options. Parents, friends, magazines, and personal experience had no play here—they'd never suggest anyone like Duncan. Hormones might work, but that was a sad choice, and didn't always apply. It was hard, but... "I don't know," she said finally.

"Pro tip? Violet doesn't know either," Duncan responded. "And neither of them cares. Whatever they've got is what they needed, and they're happy." He looked uncomfortable, but continued, staring off at the street below. "If _that's_ gross, well... now I see why V would try to kill herself."

The embarrassed silence started at Courtney's end of the sofa and budged its way across Duncan for an awkward minute or two. Inner Courtney stomped around, breaking things and swearing profusely, while Outer Courtney stared intently at her fingers. At Inner Courtney's anguish, Outer Courtney kicked it in the foot a few times and decided to concede defeat. Even her pride had its limits.

She swung Duncan's legs off the couch, sat next to him, and put her head on his shoulder, looking extremely focused. He glanced down at her briefly, but his head stayed still. "We've got blankets if you're cold, y'know. I'm not the only thing around," he told her assertively, as if he wasn't expecting much.

"I'm not cold anymore," she stammered, brows furrowed; his eyebrows rose in curiosity. "You did warn me," she said, looking up at him with a smile the terminally ill might use—deeply in pain, but happy, and thankful. That, or perhaps the apology face you might get from the kid who ate all the Halloween candy and threw up in your favorite pair of shoes. It was too pathetic—he had to laugh, and ruffled her brown hair. Disaster averted, she smiled her thanks to karma and flipped his mohawk forward in response.

His "don't push it" got caught in her "shut up," and they held each other there, blissfully aware of their escape from treacherous territory.

"There's a couple music festivals in Calgary right about now. Greg's band got asked to play for Noctis Valkyries at the university, and we found out there's a jazz fest going on in the city. I knew you were out here because I checked your mail at Wawanakwa—don't give me that look, you can't tell me you're surprised. So we decided, let's pack up the crap and head out a couple weeks early, have a vacation."

She was about to launch into a new barrage of questions when the sun finally decided to peek out over the horizon, looking pretty bashful about it. It seemed to snap Courtney out of her reverie.

"It's morning already? My parents! Duncan, you've got to take me home!"

"Sure thing, princess," he said, watching as she scrambled away and slammed the door to the stairs behind her. "Love that woman," he said to himself, before staring out at the rising sun. "What the hell are you staring at?" he accused; he could have sworn a couple clouds moved over it. The red sky effect was nice, so he stayed to watch.

"_Duncan!"_

Or not.

* * *

AN: Yay! :D As for the more explanation I promised; Greg and Violet's relationship isn't going to be the focus of the story, and half the time you'll hardly notice it, but the other half won't be explicit.


	6. Picture Perfect

**Picture Perfect**  
In which an unexpected guest calls Duncan a dog.

* * *

"You didn't need to do that, you know," Courtney half-whispered, half-giggled. It was about 7:30AM—Duncan drove her back home in record time, breaking numerous traffic laws on the way, and they had just finished talking with Courtney's mom. After some amused bargaining, Duncan secured Courtney's freedom from her mother and they were off to downtown Calgary once more.

"What, you think I can't be polite?" Duncan countered. He remote-unlocked the car and opened the passenger door for Courtney.

"Polite? More like a suck-up! 'I missed Courtney _so_ much since the show ended, I couldn't wait to see her! Do you think you could let her show me around downtown?' And then, 'I promise I'll bring her home before dark!" Courtney teased in a whiny voice, flipping her hands around like a Valley Girl.

"Hey, hey, little miss lawyer, don't misquote me!" Duncan replied, punching her lightly in the ribs. "I don't talk like that."

"Ow!" she said reflexively, and punched him back; he laughed. "You might as well have. Where'd you get that from, anyway? You're never that nice." She hopped in the car and put her feet up on the dashboard, giving him a challenging stare. Courtney was adjusting to the 'let's be bad' concept rather nicely, and 'feet on the dashboard' was something her mother always said was too dangerous.

"I'm _not _nice, princess, but if you're interested..." He leaned on the door's open window and grinned at Courtney, eye to eye. "When stealing doesn't get you what you want, being polite _does_." He vaulted over the hood of the car, hopped in on the other side and revved the engine, looking amusedly at her half-concealed snarl. In fact, she thought, he looked like a happy thief ready to steal a ki—

"Hidy-ho, lovers!" piped Greg's voice from the back seat. "Your antics are hilarious but I want to see Calgary Tower _before_ Santa comes," he said, pushing Duncan and Courtney's faces apart. "Gas pedal's on the right, Sea Biscuit," Greg told Duncan, giving him two consoling shoulder pats before leaning back in his seat. Courtney made a whipping motion at Duncan complete with a "whippa-cha" sound effect, which he exchanged for One Glare, Free of Charge.

Inner Courtney whispered something terrible in Outer Courtney's ear; she _was_ on a bad streak, after all, and this would complete the combo. "Say, Duncan, Greg's got the right idea," she purred. Duncan gave her a look straight from death row; Inner Courtney reveled in it.

"I think you should call your car Sea Biscuit."

They argued and shouted about it, but to Courtney and Greg's satisfaction and Duncan's complete misery, the name stuck.

Inner Courtney gave Outer Courtney a _huge_ high-five.

* * *

They spent the morning being proper tourists, visiting Calgary Tower, Glenbow Museum, Prince's Island, and Eau Claire Market on foot, after leaving Sea Biscuit by the abandoned shopping block. Courtney tried to be their tour guide but failed miserably; she couldn't remember anything about tourist landmarks because she hadn't visited any of them since middle school.

All tourists inevitably get hungry; Eau Claire had a Subway, so Duncan and Courtney got sandwiches while Greg and Violet ate quickly and ran to the children's play area. Duncan chomped on his sub absently while he made marks on the tourist map he'd picked up at the Tower.

"When were _you _ever a sightseer?" Courtney asked, suspicious. "And what are you doing with that map?"

He scribbled on it for a moment. "Getting a feel for the city, and your campaign."

She walked over to his side of the table and sat down next to him, staring at the map. She slid her arm around his waist reflexively, which he didn't mind in the slightest, and stared at his markings. "How's this going to work, anyway? What does a 'Demon Queen' _do _that isn't already illegal? And it's not like this is a government-recognized position. You can't just ask the city to let you create an... Ambassador of Crime."

"Babe, the government won't have a _thing_ to do with this. Anyway, we've got a month before Noctis Valkyries; that's enough time to figure out what Demon Queens do that isn't fun," Duncan replied, carefully changing her words. "And it's a two-day fest. Have the voting one day and announce the winner at the end?"

Courtney pulled a note pad and pen out of her pocket and scribbled down a note—_contact NV staff. _"What is it, anyway?" she asked, pointing at the 'NV' on the page. "You mentioned Greg's band, but..."

"Two glorious days of death metal," Duncan said with a greedy smile. He slowed down every word, ready to eat every syllable. "You will never feel so _alive_, princess."

Perturbed, Courtney waved his rapture away with her hand. "Right, Duncan, I'll feel 'alive' for 'death' metal, because that makes _perfect_ sense." Something about it nagged her—didn't she make him feel alive? But she couldn't let him see her concern. "Back to business. Somehow we have to create hype for this Demon Queen position and... make sure I'm the favorite to win at the same time."

"'Vote Courtney for Demon Queen of Calgary' could work. Get some posterboard and glitter, post signs all around downtown with your shining face on th—ow!"

She pinched his ribcage with the hand around his waist—if he was going to be Bad Boy Duncan, she could be Good Cop Courtney. "You've got the right idea, putting my name and the position together, but can we please not use _my_ name?"

"Because?" Duncan rubbed his sore rib.

She shrugged. "Well, people here saw Total Drama Island. They know I was... with you. If you graffiti 'Courtney for Queen' everywhere, they'll put my name together with your record, and frankly I can't have you ruining my image any more than you already have. Why can't I use a pseudonym and wear a costume?"

"Back up, babe. You want me to..." He paused; this was _too _good. "You _want_ me to tag your name everywhere?"

She bit her lip and looked at nothing, rearranging the information in her head. "No. Not everywhere. I decide what you write, but _you_ decide where based on where you think the right people will see it." She started making a list on her notepad—_spray paint, hammer & chisel, explore UofC, pseudonym, costume, brainstorm DQ purpose... _Her smooth hand gripped the pencil lightly as she fell into a groove, making notes and making notes on her notes, crossing things out and writing between lines...

Duncan leaned to the side to get a better look at this one; Courtney _was_ serious about this campaign. He could see the gears turning in her head—the reasons, the commitment, the plans, the follow-through. This was Courtney, pre-Duncan; this was what her finicky, law-minded upbringing taught her to do. To plan, and to... shit, was she really about to take some random-ass idea and _make it happen?_

He watched her work as he pondered the scope of this. With guidance, Courtney could commit perfect crimes and never get caught; she could plan heists that had no loose ends. Were all A-types this way? Could a hint of _bad_ set them all off on the trail, taking this foreign and invaluable talent with them?

She stopped writing for a minute to think; he pulled the pen out of her hand and laughed as she started writing again, only to realize no ink was coming out of the pen she wasn't holding. He didn't want to blacken her heart or anything—he was sick, not _twisted. But do I want to see how far she'll go? Oh, absolutely. Black coffee's not her, but let's just say princess here could use a little less creamer in her latte... _he thought with a grin. He took the tanned hand that wasn't trying to get the pen back and admired it. _She's latte enough already._

Courtney ground one of her heeled cork wedges into his red Converses—with a whimper and wince, Duncan dropped the pen onto the table, which Courtney snatched, looking satisfied. _Did Bonnie and Clyde ever have Kodak moments like this? _he thought to himself, along with _ow foot jesus ow god rrgh toes._

"You make this too easy, Duncan," Courtney chided, watching his grimaces of pain with a condescending smile and a sigh.

He wiggled his toes—at least he could feel them now. "Not easy for my feet. But," he whispered, matching her facial expression, "better that than my nuts, babe. Guess this means you want 'em in working order." He winked, ready to run like hell whenever she decided to make a crotch shot.

"We're in _public_, you ogre!" she hissed under her breath, glancing around to make sure no one heard.

_Well, now—_that's_ interesting, _he mused_._ "National television didn't bother you before," he whispered, a little softer, almost comforting. "That's thousands, millions of people. What's a couple hundred to you now?"

She looked askance. She tried to say a lot of things about how these were voters, parents, neighbors, friends, friends of friends, enemies, that she lived in Calgary and she'd probably see these people for years, but she knew what he was doing—trapping her—and she hated it. And she _loved_ that she hated it. His words were in her hair, tickling her scalp, holding the base of her skull and pulling her closer to him. She was _absolutely not going to kiss him, no way in hell, not here! _But he hadn't said anything about kissing her—she came up with that all on her own! She hated him, she had to kill him, but first things first—

"_Courtney_! Wow, I never thought you'd show your face again after _embarrassing _yourself all over national TV! I mean, seventh grade was pretty pathetic, but getting cheated out of a hundred thousand by a _geek!_ That's gotta hurt," a voice taunted from the other side of the table. Courtney recognized it immediately, and grimaced.

"What's _your_ damage?" Duncan growled in retort, turning to face a tall, fashionable girl about Courtney's age in a cerulean mini-dress, leggings, and Uggs. Her tapered bob cut swished when she talked; her white teeth chewed lightly on a piece of gum. Whoever she was, she was hot and she knew it. Duncan _hated_ it when chicks did that—but he had to admit, what a body!

"Down, boy," she purred. "Courtney, was he your consolation prize? Not bad, not bad at all." She leaned over the table and motioned him closer; he grudgingly leaned on the table toward her. "Advance warning: she doesn't know a _thing_ about how to treat you right," the girl murmured with a wink, biting her lower lip seductively. "I'm Zoe."

Duncan's phone buzzed in his pocket—incoming text, sender Courtney. It read: _Village bicycle. Do NOT call me princess._

* * *

AN: I realized right before I finished this chapter that I did forget some disclaimer action that was kind of important! So it's below. This chapter should clear up some questions... and make other things even more confusing! I can always answer your questions or clear stuff up, but I won't give out spoilers. Sorry if I'm making Duncan and Courtney talk too much, but it's so much fun writing dialogue for them. :D Also, I'm continuing to experiment with chapter names and summaries, and where to put all these parts... blah, so much to change!

Disclaimer: TDI, Duncan, and Courtney are not mine, but Greg, Violet, and Zoe are. Tim Hortons, Calgary, and Calgary's bits - Noctis Valkyries, Calgary Jazz, the Tower, Eau Claire, the Subway in Eau Claire's food court, Glenbow Museum, Prince's Island, and the University are not mine, but are real places or events. I may have changed times or appearances (sometimes) to fit the story, but otherwise all these places/events are real.


End file.
